


all things warm

by porcelainsalt (bluedreaming)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/porcelainsalt
Summary: “You won’t believe who I saw,” Harry says, setting the cup back down on the table. Ron shrugs, Hermione looks speculative, and Harry frowns. “Malfoy.”





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _25 Days of Draco and Harry 2016 early bird prompts_ on [slynthindor100](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [bookstore *in Notting Hill*](http://i.imgur.com/1bkKVik.jpg)

 

 

 

 

The book is just slightly out of reach of his grasping fingers. Harry glances to the side along the bookshelves, and then back along the other way; there’s no one there and it wouldn’t hurt—

There’s a rustle of fabric, a quiet cough, and he snatches his hand back to his chest, caught in the act and yet he’s not guilty of anything. _Semantic_ , Hermione would say, but then again she’s studying law, both wizarding and otherwise. Harry turns, about to—do what?

He’s no longer sure, as all coherent though fades into a kind of off-key buzzing. The person standing just slightly behind him and to the left is the last person Harry would have ever expected to meet in a small bookshop in Notting Hill. A Muggle book shop, no less.

“Malfoy?” he asks, even though it’s not like he could have forgotten his name. There’s a pause, before Malfoy steps foward, Harry stepping back involuntarily as the sleeve of Malfoy’s peacoat grazes his arm.

“Is this the right one?” Malfoy asks, and Harry blinks at the book he’s holding out. _Tort Law: Text and Materials by Ken Oliphant and Mark Lunney_.

Harry nods, and Malfoy places the book in his hands before slipping around the corner. By the time Harry has closed his mouth and collected himself, Malfoy is nowhere in sight.

 

 

 

 


	2. December 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [upside down mugs/hot cocoa](http://i.imgur.com/ywllEWT.jpg)

 

 

 

 

“We got you that weird peppermint hot cocoa thing,” Ron says, waving to Harry from a round table tucked in the corner of the coffee shop. Harry runs his fingers through the clumps of snowflakes caught in his fringe; now that he’s in the warmth of the inside, the snow is starting to melt onto his face. Tucking the heavy book beneath his arm, he slips into the open seat, transferring his load onto the table before he wraps his cold fingers around the porcelain walls of the cup and takes a deep breath.

For some reason, the scent reminds him that Christmas is just behind the corner, and the funny upside down Christmas mugs this particular coffee shops uses as soon as December rolls around only help encourage the feeling.

“You found it!” Hermione exclaims, pulling the book towards her and beginning to flip through the pages in excitement, even though Harry’s not sure that tort law deserves that level of happiness. It sounds awfully dull—his thoughts flicker back to the book shop that afternoon-

“You won’t believe who I saw when I went to find it,” he says, setting the cup back down on the table.

Ron shrugs. “I haven’t got a clue, mate.”

Hermione looks speculative, and Harry frowns.

“Malfoy.”

 

 

 

 


	3. December 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity leads to questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [gingerbread cookies](http://i.imgur.com/rwTwlSx.jpg)

 

 

 

 

Harry is still turning the encounter over in his head and his exit from the fireplace in the Leaky is even less graceful than usual. It’s only by a stroke of rare luck that he managed to grasp the arm of a chair by the heart and not go head over heels, not that it would have been the first time.

“You okay there, Harry?” a familiar voice calls, and Harry sighs to himself even as he flashes a smile at Tom.

“Just can’t quite get the hang of it,” he admits, brushing the soot off his shoulders.

“Next time,” Tom says cheerfully, drying a mug and setting it down on the counter with a tap. “You here for drink?”

Harry shakes his head, apologetic, because the idea of a firewhiskey right now sounds lovely.

“I promised to meet a friend,” he explains and Tom nods.

Ron is leaning over a cart when Harry steps into Diagon Alley. _Gingerbread_ , the sign announces in swooping white letters that look suspiciously like royal icing.

“Work up a good appetite at training today?” Harry asks, nudging Ron in the side just to see him jump and then pretend that Harry hadn’t startled him at all.

“That’s the story,” Ron agrees, biting the head off a gingerbread biscuit, and offering Harry a tree-shaped one. The gingerbread is crisp and delicious in the cold air.

“Is Hermione here yet?” Harry asks, peering around the carts and vendors that have already begun to gather for the holiday season. A thought has been nagging at him for a while now, and it would be nice to share his thoughts, even if mostly only because he wants to be told that he’s overthinking things.

“She said to meet up in Flourish and Blotts,” Ron says, taking another bite of gingerbread and stepping along the cobbles, Harry falling into step alongside.

“Do you remember yesterday, when I said I met Malfoy at the book shop in Notting Hill?” Harry asks, trying to sound casual and probably failing miserably.

Ron shrugs. “I’m glad it wasn’t me?” He doesn’t sound particularly interested, and in one way it’s nice because they’ve all grown up, at least a bit, and Malfoy isn’t the high school villain anymore, but on the other hand he just can’t get the thought out of his head.

“Don’t you think that Hermione didn’t sound very surprised?” he says, trying to shape the sense that he’d had into words to describe the nagging feeling that she knew something, though exactly what he still doesn’t know.

“I dunno, mate,” Ron says, and shrugs. “She probably just figured it wasn’t that strange to meet someone if you both live in the same city.” He takes a another bite of gingerbread and hums. “Why does it matter, anyway?”

Harry doesn’t have a good answer for this, because honestly, _why does it matter?_ so he tries to shrug it off. “Just curious,” he says, and leaves it at that, even though the thought is still swirling through his head.

 

 

 

 


	4. December 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nighttime messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [snowy road](http://i.imgur.com/VGcw0bh.jpg)

 

 

 

 

Hermione is well past overwhelmed with exams revising by now, “almost a week into December,” as she says, and her fuss and fluster paints a strange sort of nostalgia that sits, bittersweet on his tongue as he looks on from the outside. While it reminds him of revising for exams at Hogwarts, school life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and memories of exams are soured by dark, sticky memories that he only revisits at night, waking up in the dark, throat hoarse from screaming.

Heart pounding, Harry’s gaze sweeps the walls of his bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place, breath loud in his ears. His glasses fly to his outstretched fingers, wand still tucked safely beneath his pillow, and his eyes catch on the painting of a winter scene, a snowy road leading to an unknown destination. He doesn’t quite remember the subject of this night’s crashing parade through memory lane and he doesn’t want to, but something about the way the snowflakes drift slowly down, piling on the silent road, helps him catch his breath.

“Is Master Potter needing some hot tea?” Kreacher inquires from next to the bedside table, and Harry only twitches at the surprise entrance, rather than leaping a foot into the air like he did after the first nightmare. Kreacher is no Dobby, but they have worked out a kind of truce over the weeks, and Harry nods his head.

“Yes, please,” he says, ignoring Kreacher’s not exactly quiet sniff at the _please_ , before the house elf pops out of the room again.

There’s a soft chime from the grate down in the sitting room, and Harry grumbles to himself as he pulls on a threadbare dressing gown and stumbles down the stairs to the fireplace, unsurprised to see Hermione’s face in the flames.

 _Tempus_ , he thinks, and the numbers that swim into view, before dissolving as his shoulder brushes them on his way past, tell him that it’s far too early for anyone except students attempting both first year pre-law studies and first-year Wizarding law courses to be awake.

“Good night,” Harry says, slumping onto the rug spread before the hearth. Maybe if he hints enough, Hermione will get the hint.

“If you just got a mobile, I wouldn’t have to wake up up to leave a message,” Hermione says, a veritable checkmate, and Harry just sighs. He’d suggest that she leave a message with Kreacher, except that that would be recipe for disaster.

“If you’re quite done sighing,” she continues, “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve booked an extra study session tomorrow afternoon so I won’t be able to make it to ice skating after all.” Her voice is apologetic, but Harry waves off her concern.

It’s possible that later on this morning when the sun is actually thinking about rising he might be more disappointed, but right now all he can think about is hot tea and crawling back into his warm bed.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he says, “we can do it some other time.” She fixes him with a particularly disconcerting look that stretches longer than he’s quite comfortable with, before nodding.

“Alright then,” she says, and waves before disappearing in a shower of green sparks.

Harry rubs his eyes and barely makes it through two mouthfuls of perfectly-steeped tea before falling into thankfully dreamless sleep, the events of the night nothing more than another forgotten fragment of the nightscape.

 

 

 

 


	5. December 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [ice skating rink at Somerset House](http://i.imgur.com/p0lqSuW.jpg)

 

 

 

 

Harry’s glancing around the crowd, breath hanging in a cloud of steam in front of his face, fogging up his glasses as he wonders what’s keeping Hermione so long before he overhears a snatch of a stranger’s conversion on his mobile, “—and I’m up to my neck in revising so—”

 _Mobile_ , he thinks, followed quickly on its heels by _revising_ , and then Hermione’s face, green in the flames, flashes across his memory for a moment, obscuring the lights of the Christmas tree, and he remembers her apology. The disappointment is cold, as he ducks out of the way of the flailing arms of a new skater and manages to find a reasonable quiet spot to stand. It’s not that he wants to skate. Glancing down at his feet, he cracks a tiny smile at his winter boots, covered in an disguise charm to look like winter skates. Hermione can skate circles around him, but ice skating wasn’t really something that fit into the Dursely’s programme of Harry-Potter-permitted activities, and it’s not really something he’s had occasion to pick up now.

It’s not the ice skating activity itself that’s disappointing, but the feeling of being strangely adrift. Hermione is busy with her studies, Ron with Auror training, and even though Harry had thought about the latter, he soon realized it wasn’t really something he could do.

In the middle of the war, he had felt so old, tired and focusing everything on making sure everything would end, but now he’s starting to realize that they’re all just kids, and even though Hermione has shared her opinion about his deciding to take a year to figure things out before finishing his N.E.W.T.S., he knows its for the best. That doesn’t make it less lonely somethings though, despite the fact that he knows he still has his friends.

Harry is pulled from his maudlin thoughts by a small polite cough, and looks up only to do a double take at the person standing next to him.

Malfoy’s pale blond hair is almost icy in the lights, his expression oddly. . .hesitant.

“I—,” he begins, then closes his mouth, nostrils flaring before he fixes Harry’s gaze with grey eyes that are oddly intense. “She said you’d probably have forgotten.” Malfoy looks away after a moment, eyes trailing over the Christmas lights, the crowd of Muggles laughing and skating around on the ice. Harry watches him, bemused, before Malfoy’s words click, and some things fall into place.

“Hermione,” he says, and Malfoy glances back at him before giving a clipped nod. Something buzzes in his pocket, and Harry feels his fingers closing over his own wand before he even realizes what he’s doing, but Malfoy’s hand emerges from his peacoat with a mobile in hand, peering at the screen for a moment before he flicks his thumb across the surface and taps his fingers in what looks like a complicated dance before pressing the screen with his thumb.

“You should close your mouth, Potter,” Malfoy finally says, slipping the mobile back into his pocket. Harry snaps his jaw shut, the tips of his ears pinking in embarrassment, but even as he tries to process what he’s just seen, _Draco Malfoy in a crowd of Muggles, with a Muggle mobile, texting_ , he can’t help but feel a familiar comfort in hearing the dry tone.

Somehow, for a reason he can’t quite fathom, it feels comfortingly familiar.

 

 

 

 


	6. December 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends, but why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** [frosted windowpane](http://i.imgur.com/fgmjW0t.jpg)

 

 

 

 

“So,” Harry says, slipping into the seat across the table from Hermione.

“So,” she replies, not giving away anything as she hums thoughtfully over her work.

If he squints, Harry can pretend they’re back in the library at Hogwarts, but the feeling of desperate urgency is less easy to find. He opens his eyes again, scanning the shelves, the recessed lights in the arches of the ceiling, the spiralling frost drawing transient masterpieces on the tall windows.

Hermione is mostly obscured by the stacks of books creating new cityscapes on the surface of the library table, the familiar sound of pages turning punctuated now by the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. _Malfoy and his mobile,_ Harry thinks, _You have a lot of explaining to do_.

“I happened to meet someone when I went to Somerset House yesterday,” he says, needing to know and yet not entirely sure how to begin. Hermione lifts an eyebrow, probably at him admitting that he wasn’t really paying attention when he’d flooed him earlier, and Harry just gives up.

“Okay, fine, I met Malfoy again and I’m pretty sure you’re. . .something.” Harry’s voice trails off, his face probably furrowed in the confusion he’s feeling as he realizes what he was just about to say.

“We’re friends,” Hermione says, matter of factly, before tapping out something on her computer.

“But. . .how?” Harry asks, because the last he remembers of Malfoy, before everything turned into one long nightmare, was the way he used to call Hermione “Mudblood”.

Hermione just shakes her head, her expression fond. “People change, Harry,” she says. “You used to say you wanted to be an Auror but that ended up not working out. It’s okay to try something new.”

Harry frowns at the thought of being compared in some way to Malfoy; the idea isn’t exactly bad, just nothing he’s used to.

“But how did you meet him?” he asks, pulling a random book from the stack to flip through. The words are in English but he doesn’t understand any of it, and he pushes it back at the stack.

“I think you should ask him yourself,” Hermione says, before glancing the clock. “Anyway, I promised to meet Ron after training so we can look at a gift for Molly. She’s flipping the lid shut on her laptop and gathering up the pile of books before Harry has enough time to protest.

 

 

 

 


End file.
